Slow Simmer Summer
by elenasalvatore17
Summary: Damon and Elena have loved each other for God-knows-how-long but have never known how the other feels. After five years, Damon's back from war and his comrade is dating (of course) Elena Gilbert. It's yet another slow simmer summer in Mystic Falls and it's sure to get even hotter. Rated M for a reason.
1. Hello, Stranger

_**AN:** _

_**Plot** : Damon and Elena have a complicated history. They've loved each other for God-knows-how-long but due to a combination of terrible timing and tremendous luck, they've never known how the other felt. For five years, Damon has been off-the-grid but now – Damon's back from war and his comrade is dating (of course) Elena fucking Gilbert. It's yet another slow simmer summer in Mystic Falls and it's sure to get even hotter. AU. Delena endgame._

 _ **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but this plot._

 _This is the first Fanfiction I've ever written so please go easy!_

 _The organization of this first chapter is intended to be a compilation of different scenes in Damon and Elena's history together so it jumps back and forth from different points in time. The **Bold** parts are intended to give you a heads-up so make sure to read those! I hope it's not too confusing._

 _This story was inspired by the film_ Love, Rosie _which I am endlessly in love with._

* * *

 **Summer before senior year**

She soaked up the salt slowly – excruciatingly slowly – swirling her tongue in lazy circular motions. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her – _the_ _girl who he'd loved for God knows how long_ – his gaze trailing the arc of her neck and the careless shake of her hair as she downed shot after shot. He stared, fixated, at her parted mouth as she bit into the lime wedge – he watched how she thrust her head back and closed her eyes in ecstasy, arching her back, pebbles beading over her delicate olive skin. A Calvin Harris song was playing in the background and he couldn't help but be affected by all of it – the sensual, pulsating beat, the smokiness of the bar, and the gorgeous girl before him, bent over his girlfriend's bellybutton. Rebekah was squirming underneath her ministrations, eyes rolled to the back of her head.

He had no idea what had gotten into her – what had possessed her to get rip-roaring drunk and do a body shot on his girlfriend of all people. He knew Elena Gilbert better than anyone and Elena Gilbert was not this girl wearing sky-high heels, throwing back tequila like it was orange juice.

Elena wiped the last of the salt from her lips with her arm. She smoothed out the hemline of her dress, clambering up from the bar counter, and met his gaze evenly. As her eyes found his, he felt himself burn up. She was so beautiful, with her hair in a state of complete disarray and one of the straps of her red cotton sundress falling off the curve of her shoulder. He was coming undone – there was no question about it. It was yet another slow simmer summer in Mystic Falls and he knew, by God, that the heat was just going to get more unbearable.

"Enjoy the show, Salvatore?" she asked, sauntering over to where he sat with a lazy smile hanging from her lips.

"You'll be the death of me, Gilbert," he replied.

"Good. That's why I'm here. Want another round?"

"Tempting, but I really do think I have the responsibility to cut you off for the night. Contrary to popular belief, holding back your hair while you hurl into the toilet isn't exactly how I planned this night going."

"Always with the wisecracks," she remarked, swinging herself onto the tabletop beside him. "Don't be such a killjoy, Salvatore. Unlike you, I happen to be more than capable of handling my alcohol. If you don't want to join me, I'm sure I won't have any difficulty in securing another drinking partner."

He laughed. "You're a piece of work."

"Does that mean you've changed your mind?" she quipped, but _she knew she'd already won._

"You're paying," he declared, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and following Elena's lead towards the bar. Yet another night was to be spent drinking themselves to oblivion, denying the feelings they had towards each other because they feared, more than anything, _what-might-happen_ if they gave in to what they actually wanted.

* * *

 **Sexy Suds Car Wash, senior year**

There was no way in hell he was going to miss this one. He'd be lying if he said he'd brought his beloved Camaro for the car wash itself. He took better care of his car than he did of his own life – everyone knew that. It was so clean you could see your reflection in it. No, he'd come because he was whipped. Rebekah had demanded he play the part of supportive boyfriend and drop at least twenty bucks at this event or she'd withhold sex for a week. His fear of blue balls was the main incentive for why he was wasting his Sunday afternoon at school but, _he had to admit_ , seeing his girlfriend in an itty bitty bikini wouldn't be the worst way to spend the day.

Caroline Forbes, as per usual, was standing on a table with a megaphone, barking commands. He wasn't the biggest fan of Blondie – too much jibber jabber, too little substance – but he was one to give credit where it was due. Blondie, after all, had been the one to come up with the genius idea of having the cheerleaders wash cars for charity in various states of undress.

As he drove by, he gave her a little wave. She flushed red immediately and smiled a little too widely. She's had a thing for him ever since a particularly risqué game of Strip Poker back in sophomore year – of course, now that he was taken, he couldn't capitalize on that little crush, but it didn't hurt to be reminded every now and then that he's still got it.

As he pulled in to the parking lot, he waited to be served. There were some real hotties working the hoses, and while he'd come for Rebekah, it would be against the spirit of the cause if he didn't let April Young (whose newfound curviness didn't escape his notice) handle his car...right?

Too late, _she_ 's spotted him. He rolled down his car window, enjoying the sight of his girlfriend walking over towards him in her two-sizes-too-small swimwear.

"Told you I'll make it worth your while," she said coyly.

He looked her up and down and felt himself instantly harden. "Mm, I'm a lucky man indeed."

"Do you like my bikini?" she asked, noticing how he'd clenched his jaw. She hooked her fingers in the edges of her bikini bottom and tugged it down slightly. He was transfixed.

"I love it," he drawled, eyes roaming her body shamelessly. He leaned towards her, voice dangerously low, "I love how it clings to your skin and how your perky tits fill it out to the max..." She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes incrementally darker. "but I'd love your little two-piece _so_ much more when it's on the floor."

"My house. Tonight," she managed to say through gritted teeth.

"I thought your folks were back?"

"They are. But you're worth that risk."

"Looking forward to it. Say – you're the one who's hosing my car down, right? Because I'll sure like to see you even wetter."

"Yeah, me and Lena."

He stared at her blankly, afraid to believe his ears.

"You and Lena?"

"Yes, _Lena_. It's either her or April Young and we all know April's going to put on a show."

"What's wrong with a show?"

"Keep talking and you can forget about tonight."

"I'm just kidding, baby. You know you're the only one for me."

He pulled her in for a kiss – which got steamy _very_ quickly – until he heard someone clear her throat.

"Get a room, wouldja?"

He flinched. It was her.

"Sorry, Lena," Rebekah said, looking mortified.

" _Well well well_. Look at you, Salvatore. Who knew you'd ever show up to a charity event?"

He lifted his head tentatively and there she was, eyebrow raised in that sarcastic way she'd mastered, the edge of her lip quirked – the physical manifestation of what's in every teenage boy's wet dream.

She looked so good she could be _edible –_ exactly what he'd feared. She was in a striped bikini that was modest in comparison to Rebekah's but it was downright sinful molded against her curves. It was small enough for him to get a proper eyeful of her cleavage and it showcased her long, long legs, tan from her summer in the Bahamas. It was one of those flimsy pieces that tied in the front and he couldn't help but notice how easy it would be for him to untie it, how easy it would be for one of the straps to slip, how the entire top could just _come apart_ –

Get your head out of the fucking gutter, Damon. She's your best friend, for God's sake.

"Thanks for cockblocking me, Gilbert," he replied drily, trying to muster some illusion of nonchalance.

He'd worked so hard all of this summer to get her out of his head. He'd crushed on her for way too long – every time he worked up the nerve to ask her out, he'd find out she was dating a new member of the football team. So he'd decided that perhaps the terrible timing was for the best – Elena Gilbert was his best friend, the only constant variable in his fucked-up life, and he could not live without her. So he'd entered senior year with the resolution of shaking off his schoolboy crush and moving on with his life. And it had _worked_ – until he laid eyes on her in this outfit.

 _God knows how he'd feel once she turns on that hose._

* * *

 **A week later**

She was sitting shotgun, her hair fanned out behind her, staring at the windshield with a distant look in her eyes.

It was almost dawn and the city was in a strange, wonderful mood that day. The sky was bathed in shades of pink and orange and the streets were deserted. They'd arrived at her place over an hour ago and yet she still hadn't gotten out of the car. So he parked it and there they sat in the middle of the parking lot, lost in thought.

"Let's get out of here," she said all of a sudden.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Away from this fucking town."

He laughed. "We're gonna get away soon enough."

"Whitmore isn't far enough for me. California isn't far enough for me. I want to get away. Like Tokyo or Moscow or...or _London_!"

"We can't up and leave, Lena. Our families are here. Our entire lives!"

"This place is a hellhole. We've known this forever. I want to start anew and I want you to go away with me. Let's apply to college in London. What do you say?"

It was that earnestness in her eyes, that genuine excitement and wonder, that propelled him to say yes before he even knew what he was saying. But of course he said yes. She was Elena Gilbert and he was head over heels.

* * *

 **The night before prom, senior year**

"I'll go with you if you have no one else to go with," he found himself saying.

"Thanks but no thanks, Salvatore. I'm not some charity case," she scoffed.

She'd broken up with Charlie Turner, school tool ( _in his humble opinion_ ), after she caught him making out with Vicki Donovan in the library – which would not have been much of a tragedy if not for the fact that Elena was now without a prom date. He'd found out about the break-up through Rebekah and had run over to her house the moment he'd found out. Like he'd suspected, she was eating her weight in chocolate – she wasn't the type to cry or rant, she liked to keep her feelings bottled up inside – but he could still tell how affected she was by the discovery.

"I _want_ to take you," he said instinctively.

Looking into his eyes, she could tell his request was sincere. She wasn't quite sure how to respond. "What about Rebekah?" she asked quietly. "I know she's spent the past few months coordinating your matching corsages. It's not fair to her if you ditch her last-minute."

"I know," he said, running his hand through his hair. "but it's our senior prom! Our last hurrah. It should be the happiest day of our lives and I wouldn't be able to have a good time if you don't."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be more than fine." She smiled, but he could tell it was contrived. "There shouldn't be a stigma to being date-less anyway! I'll go stag and kick ass at it."

He still wasn't convinced but he'd learned from experience that it was better, when it came to Elena, not to press the matter any further. "So," he said brightly, "show me your dress."

"Oh yes, the dress," she said grimly, tugging a dress from its hanger. "It cost me four months of tutoring money and now I won't even have a date."

When Elena exited the bathroom, arms folded insecurely across her chest, her eyes avoiding his, his breath hitched and he knew it was worth the money. It was red, floor-length and cinched at the waist. The satin fabric clung to her curves in all the right places and pooled at her feet. There was a slit on the side of her thigh that, whenever she moved, revealed glorious expanses of her olive skin. As her eyes met his, however, he realized that – while the dress was beautiful – it couldn't compare to the girl in it. He was screwed. He was really so fucking screwed.

"What do you think?" She asked, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.

He took a while trying to find the right words. He wanted to say what he really felt, to articulate what she was doing to him _inside_ , but he didn't. He couldn't. "I'd say you look halfway decent, Gilbert. You clean up pretty well."

* * *

 **Prom night (Damon's POV)**

Mason Lockwood had saved the day.

Fuck.

Apparently, NYU let out a week earlier than Mystic Falls High School did and so _of course_ he'd found out that Elena was going stag and swooped in on his white horse to save her like the hero he was.

Mason Lockwood, aka Elena's ex. Aka the guy Elena had _still loved_ when they decided to break up. They only broke up in the first place because the statistics said long distance relationships never worked – which means there was no fight, no long gradual drawn-out descent into apathy, no hostility whatsoever. Which means he probably still loves her and she probably still loves him too.

 _Fuck._

There he was, Prince Charming himself, with His girl. There he was, with his hand on the small of her back as they headed to the dance floor. He's whispering something into her ear. She's laughing in response. His hands are on her waist. Her arms are around his neck. They're gazing into each other's eyes. They look happy. Like they're meant to be together.

"Damon!" Rebekah's shrill voice jolted him back to reality. "Can we _please_ dance? I really want to show off my dress."

If Mason Lockwood's having fun, why shouldn't he? He grabbed Rebekah by the elbow and charged into the center of the dance floor just a few feet away from where Ele-

Never mind. This was his night too and he wasn't going to let Mr. Hotshot ruin it for him.

The tone of the night quickly shifted focus as the DJ put on an EDM song. Rebekah's eyes were locked on his as she slowly swayed her hips to the beat. He placed one leg in between hers, eye-fucking her in the process, and it was on.

With his hands, he guided her body till her back was facing him and she knew just what to do. She bent over and ground her glorious ass against him. His throat dried and his eyes rolled upward – _this_ was more like it.

* * *

 **Prom night (Elena's POV)**

The next song required a complete change in pace. Mason withdrew his arms from where they rested on her hips and placed a palm firmly on her backside.

She was surprised but she didn't let on. She noticed his eyes had darkened a few shades. It felt right, doing this with Mason, but she'd never really dirty-danced before and did sh–

Her eyes fell on the two figures in the center of the dance floor. They were grinding. One of them was rotating her ass and the other one was... Damon. Of course.

She bit her bottom lip so hard it bled. Then she noticed Mason was staring at her lips and she – in a moment of weakness and inspiration – dropped her hand to his crotch.

He was rock hard.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked seductively, but she already knew his answer.

Mason's teeth were gritted and she could swear the veins on his forehead were about to pop out when he moaned " _God_ , yes."

Damon's eyes found them as they made their way out of the ballroom. He watched the girl he'd loved forever leave to lose her virginity – _to a guy that wasn't him_.

As Mason unhooked her bra, as he positioned himself at her entrance, as he filled her and came with a yell and a shudder and fell apart beside her murmuring "that was _great_ , baby," Elena wished it was _him_ instead. She stared up at the ceiling with her underwear abandoned in the corners of the room and wished it was his hand on her thigh and his breath against her neck and _God_ , she wished it was him inside of her.

* * *

 **Five years later – Present-day**

She was wearing a new dress, a backless one she'd bought especially for the occasion. It was yellow, his favorite color. She wore nothing underneath. It had been too long.

He said he was going to be home at five but he still hadn't arrived. She knew he was going to be ravenous after his thirteen-hour flight so she'd prepared a casserole. It was going cold on the kitchen table. She tried to occupy herself by switching on the TV but her eyes kept flitting towards the front door.

She hadn't realized exactly how much she'd missed him until today. She _couldn't bring herself_ to miss him. She'd thrown herself into her work, afraid of what thoughts she'd have in the quiet moments, the idle moments. Now that she knew he was finally coming home, she let herself feel the excitement. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to expect his arrival, to think about him walking through the doorframe and remember how good it felt to be in his arms because his contract had finally expired. Today was the day that he was finally coming back to her and he was never going to leave again.

The doorbell rang and she immediately sprang up from where she sat on the couch. Her heart began to race – this was it, this was the moment – as her fingers curled around the doorknob. As the door eased open and her eyes lifted to his, she leaped into his arms, curling her legs around his waist and kissing him hard.

It was everything she'd anticipated and more. With her hands coiled in his hair and his lips against hers, trying to memorize every curve of his biceps, she was completely lost in him – in his body heat, the way he tasted – until a wolf-whistle cut through the air.

She pulled away from him, startled and confused. Then she noticed the men in army gear standing on her doorstep, laughing amongst themselves.

"Sorry, babe," he said, clearly apologetic. "A few of the guys needed a place to bunk."

"God, this is _so embarrassing_!" she said, flushing to the roots of her hair. She turned to the guys waiting outside. "Sorry you guys had to see that. Come on in!"

"Please don't stop on our account!" A man with long flaxen hair quipped, stepping through the door.

"Please _do_ ," a familiar voice grumbled.

" _Jer!_ " she exclaimed delightedly, wrapping her arms around her big brother. "I didn't know I'd see you tonight!"

In spite of himself, he smiled, leaning into her embrace. "I missed you so much, Lena...even though I wasn't expecting that sort of a welcome."

"Sorry, man," he chipped in, approaching to stand beside her and putting his arm on her shoulder.

"You better take care of my baby sister, Kol. She's too good for you."

"I don't know what I've done to possibly deserve her," he said, kissing the top of her head.

She didn't feel it. She was too busy staring at the man still hovering by the doorframe.

He was staring right back.

"Elena Gilbert?" he finally spoke, his eyebrows furrowed in recognition.

"Damon," she said in reply. It came out more brusquely than she'd expected.

His raven black hair had been closely cropped to his scalp. He seemed taller, broader. His body was more chiseled and he had stubble lining his chin. But his blue eyes and the way they made her feel as she stared into them was unmistakable.

He regarded her too, jaw clenched, his eyes roaming her body. She shifted uncomfortably, gaze dropping to her feet, as he took her in. He decided that time had treated Elena Gilbert well and he realized, with surprise, that despite the time and distance that separated him from his days back in high school, he still felt the same protectiveness and attachment towards Elena Gilbert. Despite his time in the army and the little contact they had over the past few years, he still remembered, clear as day, what it was like to love and be loved by Elena Gilbert. But most of all, he was surprised to realize that the heartbreak he'd experienced so many years ago still ate away at him.

"You guys know each other?" Kol spoke up, intruding upon the privacy of that moment.

Elena willed herself to regain her composure and meet his eyes. "We went to high school together," she said plainly.

"Wait a second, you were the Damon Elena kept talking about back in school? Her kid best friend?" Jeremy exclaimed.

"That's me," he said. There was a bitterness to his tone.

"What a small world!" Kol laughed.

"I'm sure you guys are starving," Elena said all of a sudden. "I prepared some food. I'll go get it."

"What a small world indeed," Damon remarked, his eyes bearing into her as she turned away.

* * *

Elena was scooping chunks of casserole onto paper plates when she felt his presence behind her. She knew he was watching her but she decided she wasn't going to be the one to speak first.

"Elena," he started.

She didn't respond.

"Are you still mad at me for what I did half a decade ago?"

No response. She dug into the casserole with a newfound vigor.

"Elena, look at me."

"There's nothing to say, Damon," she finally responded. "What you did five years ago is in the past."

"If you aren't angry, then why aren't you looking at me?"

She turned around slowly, wiping her hands on her apron, and met his eyes head-on. She looked exasperated. Tired. "Because I don't want to pretend that I know anything about you anymore."

"What do you mean, Lena? We were best friends–"

"Before. We were best friends a long time ago. You went off the grid after graduation. Didn't reply to my texts, emails, anything. You didn't even show up to my mother's funeral when you were in town." Her tone remained level, calm. Collected. But there was a slight quiver in her voice that gave it all away. "I'm fine with all that but what you've got to see, Damon, is that we're not best friends. That was Kid Damon and Kid Elena. Grown-up you I haven't seen in five years. Grown-up you I don't even know. We're strangers, Damon, and I'm okay with it as long as you're okay with it."

He stared at her wordlessly. Then he knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm okay with it, Elena. But can I ask you a question? For resolution's sake?"

"Sure," she said, her expression indecipherable.

"Do you still think what we did was a mistake?"

He didn't need to elaborate for her to know what incident he was referring to.

"Yes. It was a mistake, all of it," she said and in that moment, his heart found new ways to shatter all over again.

* * *

 **Five years ago. A month after senior prom**

It was mid-July. Mason had left again for New York. They'd gotten ahold of a bottle of red wine from Jenna's poorly-hidden liquor cabinet. They were hanging out on his lawn on the tail end of a school-wide pool party he'd decided to throw on a whim. Summer in Mystic Falls was always swelteringly hot and that day had been no exception. But they had gotten to the best part of the night, when the party was winding down and dusk was sinking in and the soundtrack got more mellow. She was stretched out on the grass in her firetruck red bikini that left little to imagination while he uprooted blades of grass, trying not to think about the girl lying down beside him.

"Wine drunk is the best kind of drunk," she mused, slowly peeling off strips of the wine label.

"God, aren't you pensive tonight," he laughed.

"I'm being serious! It gets you tipsy enough to care less about shit but your brain doesn't get all loopy."

"Elena Gilbert, modern-day philosopher," he declared.

"Damon Salvatore, modern-day douchebag," she retorted.

He was in a playful kind of mood that night – maybe it was the wine combined with the unspoken implications that came with the end of summer that made him so sentimental. Either way, he decided to hoist her up onto his shoulder despite her protests and charged straight towards the pool.

"I'm going to kill you, Salvatore!" she yelled as he launched her into the chlorine.

She emerged with a splutter, her head bobbing to the surface, gasping for air and her eyes murderous.

"Give me a hand, willya?" she asked, extending her arm.

Please. It was the oldest trick in the book and he was slightly insulted that she would think he would fall for it. Normally, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction but _what the hell,_ it was the end of summer, they were here together, young and beautiful without a care in the world. He took her hand.

Like he'd expected, once her hand slipped into his she tugged him down into the water with him. He feigned surprise as best as possible, splashing water at her face in retribution and chasing her around the pool.

They decided to finally get out of the pool once they realized they were the only ones still in it. He grabbed a towel from a beach chair and draped it around her shoulders as they headed into the house.

"Look! My fingers are so wrinkly!" Elena had laughed, lifting her hands to show him when she noticed how serious his expression was.

His gaze had fallen to her lips. And maybe it was the wine in her system combined with the summer heat or maybe neither, but she decided then and there to crash her lips against his.

Her legs found their way around his hips as the kiss got more feverish and her hands clung to his shoulders, seeking more friction. There they were, entangled, pressed flush against a wall, as he dove into her mouth as if he could find salvation in her lips. Her breath still lingered with the aftertaste of the wine she'd drunk and he was hooked on how it tasted on his tongue. Then she did this little throaty moan as her head thrust back and _he was a goner_. He slowly guided them up the stairs, maneuvering their way into his bedroom. He set her gently onto his duvet and began work on the skin of her neck. She grew restless as he sucked on the skin, making a mark that would surely be there in the morning. They were still damp from the pool so he licked the chlorine off her olive skin, swirling his tongue around her clavicle then down the flat terrain of her stomach and down, down, onto her inner thigh. Her hands began to work frenetically on the strings of her bikini and he'd looked up, distracted from his initial plans, his eyes trailing her movements as the straps fell from her shoulders and everything and more was on display, waiting for him.

In that moment, he realized the magnitude of what he was doing and promptly got up from where his head was positioned in between her legs.

There was an expression of frustration on Elena's face as she felt the immediate loss of him. He was straining to catch his breath and as his eyes took her in – all of her, naked – he hated himself all the more for what he knew he needed to do. "We've gotta stop, Elena," he said. "You're drunk. And I love you too much to ever take advantage of you."

"I'm not drunk," Elena insisted.

"That's what drunk people say! And I know this isn't me. I never think before I act but with you," he said, searching her eyes, "with you, I've got to be responsible. I've got to do right by you. With you, I can't be selfis–"

The rest of his thought got caught off abruptly as Elena kissed him hard. With one showstopper of a kiss, his resolve weakened incrementally and he forgot what he was about to say. It felt too right, _too good_ , and he'd been wanting it – this – for so long that now that he finally had her at his disposal he simply could not turn away.

"Please shut up," Elena whispered breathlessly into his ear. "and get back to work."

Didn't need to tell him twice.

He plunged a finger into her warmth, and he clenched his jaw as her back arched in response. "Damonnn!" she yelled.

He added another and another until she was reduced to a bundle of nerves and moans. He hadn't set his mouth in between her legs for long when her fingers flew to the zipper of his pants.

"Got a condom?" she asked.

"Of course," he responded.

"Slut," she'd laughed until he silenced her by brushing It against her clit. She stared at him, eyes wide, feeling Its size.

When he finally plunged into her heat, they came almost simultaneously. They fell apart on his bed and she quickly drifted into a blissful sleep.

He stayed awake for quite a bit longer, absent-mindedly tracing his finger in circular motions over the flat of her stomach. He watched her as she fell asleep, scarcely able to comprehend that what-had-just-happened wasn't jut a figment in a fantasy. At some point in the night, their legs entangled and he kissed her forehead before closing his eyes, sated.

He woke up the next morning with a start and realized that the other side of the bed was empty. He _would have thought_ , in his morning daze, that the events of the previous night were simply part of a heated dream if not for the smell of her in his sheets and the dull ache in between his legs.

He found a note when he clambered out of bed, looking for her, and the five words scribbled in her handwriting sent him crashing down from the high he'd been on.

 _Last night was a mistake._

He texted her afterwards, telling her that she was right and that they should just forget about it. They would never talk about it again.

* * *

 _I wrote this as a one-shot because I'm a student and I know I won't be very great with updating. If you guys want more chapters, please **READ AND REVIEW** so I know there's demonstrated interest. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Bourbon Street

_**AN:** Thanks for the love, everybody! It's been overwhelming. So, true to my word, here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy it._

* * *

 **Four years before present-day. Elena's in London**

She sat there in the empty booth, legs crossed, nursing the glass of scotch the blond from across the bar had sent her. She'd been sitting in that position for the past hour, not giving the strappy stilettos she'd borrowed from Bonnie much use, fending off advances from drunken frat boys by staring vacantly into space until they got bored and moved on. The one across the bar, however, was particularly persistent. No matter how much she tried, he just couldn't seem to comprehend that she was _not interested_ , that ever since she met Him nine years ago she's only had eyes for Him.

Those bottomless blue eyes that drew you in and never truly let you go.

She tugged insecurely at the hem of her dress. It was blood red and ended provocatively mid-thigh and she wasn't quite sure what exactly had possessed her to take it off the rack. It had been one of her more impulsive purchases back in college and she hadn't worn it since she did Jello shots and spent her Saturday nights hurling in bar bathrooms. This dress wasn't something Elena Gilbert would normally wear. She hadn't shown so much skin since she was an impressionable teenager back in high school eager to get the quarterback's attention. But tonight was different.

Maybe it was the fact that He still hadn't answered her calls. Or the fact that Caroline had told her over brunch last Saturday, in between bites of waffle, that she'd heard He was still hooking up with Rebekah Mikaelson. _It's an on-and-off kind of thing_ , she'd quickly added upon realizing the impact of what she'd said. _Purely physical._

Tonight, she decided she was sick of staying in. She decided to join Caroline and Bonnie on one of their big overblown girl-night-outs for the first time in months. Maybe they were right. She should get over him. She should move on with her life because he sure was finding no trouble moving on with his.

 _Who were you before you met him_? Bonnie asked her once. _Because whether you remember it or not, you were somebody before you met Damon Salvatore. And if you were able to do it once, you can do it again._

College was supposed to be a clean slate. It was supposed to be the fresh start she'd always wanted. And it was, in a way. London was nothing like Mystic Falls and for that, she was grateful. She was able to be a new person in London, away from small-town chatter and society's expectations, but she'd found all the changes to be sort of anticlimactic. Maybe it was because it had been a pipe dream for so long and she'd spent so much time building it up in her head – maybe this restlessness was inevitable.

Even though they hadn't spoken in months and an ocean separated them, He crept into her thoughts every now and then. When she least expected it. And those thoughts of Him – the night they spent together after the pool party, the question-mark that punctuated their relationship, the _what_ - _ifs_ and w _hat-could-bes –_ held back some part of her. Because of Him, some part of her was still anchored to the past and try as she might, she wasn't happy.

She got a look into His life through the grapevine, an occasional shift in conversation at a high school get-together or a mutual friend. It was always a small piece of information, not enough by any means, but she'd come to rely on them. Someone said He was in Amsterdam in Spring Break, taking advantage of its lax drug policies and drinking the city dry. According to another, he was in Bombay last summer, learning how to meditate and prowling Bollywood parties. When people told her these things about Him – things she _should have_ known as the only person he'd confided to for nine years – she would nod and smile but on the inside, she felt like a rubber band that was stretched too much, too thin. She would then excuse herself to the bathroom when the conversation slowed, only allowing the tears to come when the stalls were empty and the hand dryer was on full-blast. She didn't want anyone to know how much He affected Her – least of all Him.

"You enjoying your night?"

It was the blond man who'd been staring at her all night.

She made eye-contact. He was more attractive up-close. He had some finely-trimmed stubble and striking blue eyes. Looking into his eyes – God, they were blue – something in her shifted. She was _done_ feeling sorry for herself. She was _done_ pining after someone who didn't even care enough to return her calls. Whatever she thought she had with Him? Just wishful thinking on her part. It was time to move on. To face reality. Reality was that he was Damon Salvatore, notorious playboy and the boy she'd been in love with for God-knows-how-long, and reality was that "Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert" would never _be_. She took a large gulp of her drink and shot the blond stranger her most winning smile.

"More so now that you're here," she replied coyly.

Elena Gilbert was _back_ – starting with this blond guy eating her up with the sheer intensity of his gaze.

She'd always been a sucker for blue eyes.

* * *

 **Back in high school. Summer before junior year**

She invited her friends to the Lakehouse. It was on the edge of town, by Dunham Lake, and it was the perfect place for the getaway they all so desperately needed. They spent so many summers there, lolling on the porch, reading books and dipping their legs into the waves, sunbathing on lawn chairs and getting up to all sorts of mischief. If everything went as she planned, this would another one of those nights.

Only a handful of her friends were invited. Bonnie and Caroline and Matt, of course. She'd also given an invite to Rose, the new British transfer student. She'd moved down the block from her and they'd gotten really close over the summer.

Earlier that afternoon, she'd set up everything. The beers and chips were placed on the kitchen counter, with napkins and paper plates conveniently located beside them. She got out the lawn chairs from the attic, dusted them off, and set them out onto the porch. She also put together a soundtrack for the evening – it consisted mostly of generic songs, pulled directly from the Billboard Top 100s, but she couldn't help but add a sprinkling of songs she liked as well.

She put on a Cole Porter song just as they arrived. She knew they'd arrived before she even saw them. She could hear their raucous laughter as they streamed into the Lakehouse. Caroline's distinctive voice cut above all the others.

"He's coming?" Caroline was exclaiming as Elena made her way down the hall to greet them.

"Who's coming?" Elena asked.

"The elusive Damon Salvatore!" Caroline declared, her eyes bright and wide-eyed. "Who knew little Rosie here was dating _him_?"

"We're not dating," Rose quickly interjected. "We just made out once or twice, that's all."

"But he's coming here on _your behalf_!" Caroline said. "I don't know about you, but that sounds like it's more than just a casual hook-up."

Elena wasn't going to comment at first but her curiosity was getting the better of her. "Who is Damon Salvatore?"

"OMG, Elena! He's only the dark, brooding, hot new kid everybody's been talking about this summer!" Caroline said animatedly. "I heard he's Italian, and you know how hot-blooded Italians can get!" She said, not-so-subtly winking at Rose.

Rose flushed a deep crimson. Elena decided to change the subject. "Why don't you guys come on in? I've got chips and dip!"

As they started towards the kitchen, Rose flashed Elena a grateful look. "Thanks for the save back there. That was so uncomfortable," Rose remarked.

"No big," Elena smiled. "I know Caroline can be a little nosy at times but I promise you she has good intentions."

"Elena," Rose started. Elena could tell from her shift in tone that whatever she was about to say was something that had been weighing her down. Rose's face was as dark as the roots of her hair as she whispered in a hurried haze, " _IthinkIlovehim_."

"I'm sorry. I didn't get that." Elena said apologetically.

Rose sighed. "I think I... love him." Rose's eyes lifted to hers, trying to gauge her reaction.

Elena wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Why is that such a bad thing?" she said, careful to choose her words wisely.

"I mean, I really like him," Rose said, her eyes distant. "I really, really, really like him. But I've heard about him," she continued warily. "I heard he's more of a one-time thing kind of guy. And I don't want to get my heart broken."

"You won't," Elena assured her. "Look, don't listen to the peanut gallery. Make your own assessments. Give the guy some credit."

"Thanks, Lena. I appreciate it," Rose said, brightening up significantly.

" _Elena!_ Could you please put something more upbeat on?" Caroline's voice rung clear, dragging the two of them away from their conversation.

"But it's getting to the best part!" Elena protested, but she knew it was futile. She headed towards her phone, which was resting on the coffee-table. She clicked on the next song in the soundtrack, a song she knew Caroline would approve of.

When she lifted her head, all the air seemed to be sucked from the room. The entire place would have beens silent if not for Taylor Swift's _Shake It Off_. She could feel his presence before she even laid eyes on him. Turning around quickly, she saw him, lingering by the doorframe. His eyes fixed onto hers.

Fuck, they were blue. They were so searingly blue that she felt like she could drown in them.

"She's right. It was getting to the best part," he remarked. His voice was deep, low, and it oozed of something unmistakable: charisma. His eyes remained on hers as he continued, "But then again there aren't a lot of people our age who appreciate Cole Porter."

Rose came up behind him, linking her arm in his, beaming at him. "That's our Lena. She's not like anyone else."

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Damon really hit it off with everyone. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, full of hilarious anecdotes, and had a dry, self-deprecating humor that left everyone in stitches by the end of the night.

The night was winding down. Elena was lying down on the porch, still damp from her swim, a towel draped loosely around her shoulders, staring up at the stars and basking in the amazing feeling of being with her favorite people in the world, stretched out underneath the night sky. The soundtrack had progressed into the more mellow end of songs. _Falling Slowly_ by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova was playing, one of her old favorites, and she closed her eyes as the bittersweet voices blended together in an all-too-familiar harmony. It got her feeling some kind of way.

Caroline and Rose were inside, getting marshmallows to saturate their hot cocoas with. Bonnie was absorbed in a paperback she'd packed with her. Matt was asleep on a lawn-chair. Damon, she noticed, was sitting alone by the dock, swinging his legs over the edge.

"Want a drink?" Elena asked, proffering a Budweiser amicably. He looked pleasantly surprised and accepted the beer gratefully. "Mind if I join?"

"Of course not," Damon said, cracking open the tab. The beer can made a fizzing sound as he took a sip. "Nice place ya got here."

"My parents' place, actually," she responded. "They're outta town."

"I never would've pegged you as a rule-breaker," he said, the edge of his lip quirked in a smirk.

"First impressions deceive," she retorted, but she couldn't help but break out into a smile.

He laughed good-naturedly. "Evidently. Aren't you a firecracker."

"I'd like to think so," she said, taking a good swig from her cup. "It's a good thing first impressions don't stick, right? I would've just dismissed you as yet another douchebag."

He placed a hand over his heart mockingly. "You wound me."

"So you like Cole Porter, huh?" she remarked.

"One of my favorites, for sure," he said. "I fancy myself an old soul."

"Are you one of those people who wish they were born in a different time? Like in that Woody Allen movie, _Midnight in Paris_? Do you wish you were born in the 20s? Or, better yet, during the LSD-haze that is the 60s?" she quipped.

"I liked how the flappers dressed back in the 20s, that's for sure," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed drily. "I wish I could say I was surprised."

"Is that all you think of me, Gilbert?" he asked. When she looked at him, she thought she caught a flicker of disappointment in his face. But the moment she noticed it, all traces of whatever hurt he might be experiencing was gone.

"Of course not," she said sincerely. "I actually kind of... don't mind hanging around you."

"A compliment of the highest order!" He said genially. "But I'll take what I can get from you, Elena."

Her name sounded so... sensual when he said it. He enunciated every syllable, rolling it off his tongue, dragging it out. _E-lay-na._ She shivered in spite of herself.

"I couldn't help but notice that you're barely wet, Salvatore," she remarked, a mischievous look in her eye.

"Oh, don't you dar–" he was saying when she scooped up a palmful of lake water and splashed it onto his face. He blinked in surprise but his expression of astonishment was quickly replaced with one of determination.

His hands dipped into the water but she was two steps ahead of him. Her toes curled around the edge of the dock. She curved her arms and propelled herself forward, steeling herself against impact as she arched effortlessly into the lake.

His eyes followed her all the while.

* * *

 **Four months later. Junior year**

 _(AN: Rose and Damon broke up when she had to return to England, but Elena and Damon remained close friends. In fact, soon enough, they became inseparable.)_

She scanned the cafeteria quickly as she stepped out of the lunch-line. Her heart faltered slightly when she realized her usual spot was occupied by a group of theater kids.

Fuck. She'd been standing around for too long. She probably looked like a loner. Just as she was about to panic, she felt an arm around her shoulder.

"Come on, Lena. I'm sitting over there."

Damon to the rescue. _Thank God._

"How was your day, big guy?" she asked as they headed towards a table in the corner.

"Couldn't finish my math test," he said. "No big deal though, I expected it. I didn't study at all last night."

"Classic," she laughed. "You can come over to my place before the next one. Lucky for you, I think I've got this unit down pat."

"Thanks, you're a saint," he said as they set their trays down side-by-side.

She was halfway through her tuna salad when he suddenly slammed down his sandwich. "I almost forgot! I've got news."

"What's up?" she asked half-heartedly, preoccupied with picking out an offending olive from a cluster of lettuce.

"This news demands your undivided attention," he said.

"Oh _alright_!" she sighed, putting a lid on top of her salad. "You've got my undivided attention. Now get on with it already."

He leaned in towards her, his clear blue eyes all of a sudden intense. "You know Vicki Donovan?"

"Yeah, Matt's sister," she responded. She added, almost as an afterthought, "She's really pretty."

"So last night I was at Tyler's party," he started. "and we started goofing around by the deck, doing shots and stuff."

"Yeah?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his, her breath hitched.

"And so we both got a little tipsy and then..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...we started making out and she led me into this closet. We had _sex_ , Elena. I lost my virginity last night!"

She almost choked. She'd been expecting it but it was surprising all the same, hearing the words actually come out of his mouth. A stream of orange juice dribbled down her top.

"Oh fuck, let me get that." He grabbed a napkin.

"No, no, you'll mess it up even more. I'm gonna try and rinse it off before it sets." What a convenient excuse.

Her legs were carrying her to the bathroom before he could get another word in edgewise. Once she entered the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall, trying to force back the tears prickling her eyes.

Once she regained her composure, she studied her reflection in the mirror. She tried out different facial expressions. Cool. Collected. _Unaffected._

Unaffected was the look she tried to wear as she made her way back to him. Inside, however, she wanted nothing more than to cry.

* * *

 **Three years before present day**

She slipped her hand into his. It fit well. Not perfectly, but it was comfortable. She could do comfortable.

He sent her a sidelong smile from across the table. She smiled back. Life was so _easy_ with him.

They were on a double-date with Caroline and Matt. It was late autumn in London and the weather was just the right kind of mellow. They were in a nice upscale Italian bistro Caroline found on Zagat and had been meaning to try. It was right in the neighborhood, the restaurant's theme was dressy casual, and some high-carb tortellini was just what the doctor ordered after a long day of work.

It had been seven and a months with Kol. He was her first committed relationship in a long while. A bunch of her stuff was already cluttering up the cupboards in his bathroom and he had a toothbrush in hers. Sometimes they spent entire evenings in bed just lolling around, dissecting their days to the most insignificant details. With Kol, sex wasn't _under-the-bleachers-fucking_ like back in high school. It was making love in every sense of the phrase – drawing out the faintest of feelings and sensations and falling into unencumbered sleep swiftly afterward. It felt right.

She knew he loved her. She heard him whisper it into her hair one night when he thought she had fallen asleep. She found the ring he hid when she was vacuuming under his bed. It had a silver band and a small princess-cut diamond fixed into the setting – and she just knew, immediately, that it was everything she'd dreamed of and more.

She knew what he wanted for them. She knew what lay ahead in the foreseeable future if they stayed together. To her own surprise, she was pretty sure she wanted it too.

Their food arrived. His lasagna came first. He offered her the first bite, knowing she hadn't eaten all afternoon. She refused. He insisted. She complied. It was delicious. She ate three more bites, unable to resist. He smiled knowingly, holding her hand under the table.

* * *

 **Present-day. The night Damon turned up on Elena's doorstep**

"Damon!"

He drank until he saw stars. He relished in the taste of bitter on his tongue, the occasional burning sensation in his throat, the way the sting of the alcohol kept his head light and his spirits high. There he sat, perched by the dingy bar, drinking alone like a fucking loser, drowning himself in cheap booze. He knew that only here, seated by the endless alcohol supply and with a bourbon in his hand, could he forget about it. Forget about _her._ So he drank himself to death like he used to back when he was a naïve teenager who drank to impress his friends. It didn't matter that he'd been three years sober. He couldn't possibly imagine being anything less than shitfaced when he returned to her place, where she and her boyfriend would probably be having reunion sex in the other room. They say you can't find answers at the bottom of a bottle but Damon Salvatore honestly couldn't care less about what they believed.

"Keep 'em coming, barkeep," he said, downing another with ease. He squeezed his eyes tight as the alcohol hit the back of this throat, setting the glass down so hard that the bar counter vibrated with his effort.

It was ironic that he was here, back in the Grill, but it was the only decent place in this dead-end one-diner shithole of a town. It wasn't exactly the best place to go to forget about her, given how many late night rendezvouses they'd spent here in their teenage years. They used to throw back shots right about there. They used to use those sketchy fake IDs that Tyler Lockwood got them and even though they weren't very realistic, they could always count on those babies to get them just the right amount of hung-over every now and then. He got the ID of this guy from Connecticut called Lance van Ingen whose watery blue eyes and plaid shirt made him look like one of those bullies who stole other people's lunches back in the third grade. Elena got this girl from Illinois whose resemblance to her ended at the dark hair but, of course, _that_ never proved to be much of a problem as the bouncers never did check Elena's ID. They were always too busy checking her out.

 _That_ over there, by the table in the side, was the spot where she threw up one night after a round of Long Island ice teas. That was a good night. That night she got her stomach pumped and got grounded for a month. He remembered how he would climb up the fire escape to see her every Saturday night during her exile and even though he was sure her parents spotted him a few times, they never let on.

 _How stupid he used to be._ How stupid he must have been to look at that girl and think maybe, just maybe, he, Damon Salvatore, would end up with her. How stupid he must have been to want anything _more_ from the night they spent together after the pool party. How _stupid_ he must have been to fall asleep during the night they spent together, expecting her to be there in the morning.

* * *

 **Later that night**

Elena's eyes fluttered open once she heard the grunt outside the door. She'd fallen asleep on the couch after they decided that, no matter how long they'd gone without it, having sex in a house filled to the max with Marines was a recipe for disaster. So they'd opted to watch a movie together. Matt headed up to bed early – the flight had drained him and chick-flicks had never really been his thing – so she woke up alone to the drone of the TV on low volume and the ruckus outside.

Someone was evidently straining against the front door, perhaps carrying something heavy, and she could tell that whoever was out there was trying to turn the doorknob.

Her heart was in her throat and she debated going up and waking up Matt. No, he was too tired, and she could deal with the situation herself. It was probably that stray cat who lived in the heating vent scavenging for food. But then again, what if it _wasn't_? Kicking off the cashmere throw covering her legs and quietly climbing up from her position on the couch, she slowly picked up the small handgun she kept by the living room cabinet – _hoping she would never have to use it_ – and advanced towards the front door.

She looked through the peephole. It was too dark outside to make out the features on the man's face but she could tell he was rugged. Tall. Buff. More than capable of handling himself. He was still pushing against the door and, squinting, she noticed that he had something in his fist. It looked like a weapon of his own.

Then she heard the click of a lock. He found the spare key under the potted plant! Fuck!

Elena backed away from the door immediately. Warily, she cocked the gun and braced herself, curling a finger over the trigger. Her eyes rested determinedly upon the door as it swung open ever so slowly.

She was just about to fire when she recognized him.

"Whoa, whoa! Elena!" Damon exclaimed, lifting his arms up in surrender. "Put the gun down!"

"Damon?" she asked, simultaneously relieved and furious. "For God's sake, I thought you were a burglar!"

"Okay, I don't think you realize but the gun's still in your hand..." Damon said, wide-eyed, staring at the muzzle inches away from his face.

She stared at the gun as if finally comprehending its potential. She dropped it and it fell with a resounding clatter onto the rug.

" _What the hell were you thinking_?" Damon started, anger reflected in his eyes. "What if I had really been a burglar? You would have been dead by now! Why didn't you wake up Kol?"

"Because, contrary to popular belief, not all women are weak and fragile damsels in distress in need of a man to sweep them off their feet," Elena declared. "It's the 21st Century, and I'll have you know that I'm more than capable of handling myself."

"Elena fucking Gilbert," Damon chuckled darkly. "always biting off more than she can chew."

"You're one to say, Salvatore," she retorted.

A slow smirk spread across his face. He said, his voice dangerously low, " _So Little Red Riding Hood thinks she can handle the Big Bad Wolf_."

"I've seen the Wolf and it's neither big nor bad," she responded readily.

He scowled. "It's the big... _biggest_ and you...y'know it."

His slurred speech didn't escape her notice. Her voice grew low and accusatory. "Oh my God. Are you _drunk_?"

"I had a few drinks," he shrugged.

"Some things never change, do they, Damon?" she laughed bitterly. "You haven't been out of the army for a full day yet and you already can't stand being sober."

"I'd actually been sober for the past three years, Elena. Tonight, however, the vino was calling my name and I couldn...couldn't resist, that's all," he replied.

"God, don't lie to me," she sighed tiredly, running a hand through her hair. "It's late. Go to bed."

He watched her as she turned away. "Elena?"

She met his gaze reluctantly. "Yes?"

In his inebriated haze he blurted, "I just wanted to say I found you so hot with that gun in your hand, knowing that you could kill me at the pull of a trigger." His eyes had darkened by a few shades.

"Is that some weird unresolved fetish of yours, Salvatore? If so, spare me the gory details." She tried to disregard his comment but she felt her body temperature heighten significantly.

"Also, that lacey négligée. I like," he drawled drunkenly, and Elena's face tellingly flushed a rosy hue as she realized her state of undress. "I didn't expect that from you, Gilbert. To think I always thought you were so... _vanilla_."

"You're always such a fucking douche when you're drunk. Why don't you get some sleep, Damon," she huffed, "because you look like hell." With that, she turned on her heel and headed down the corridor without so much as a second glance.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Yeah, so I wanted to give you guys some more context into Elena and Damon's history together in this chapter. I love writing about high school 'Lena and Damon so definitely expect more of that in the next chapter. Sorry it took me a while to get this up but I'm a student and school is always so demanding. There's also always that added pressure of wanting to produce quality work._

 _Anyway, so there's definitely some deep-seated tension in Elena and Damon's relationship. And, of course, before we can get to all that Delena goodness, we'll have to explain away Kol. I promise we'll get to the happy-Delena-stage but before we can go there, we have to endure all the angst and build-up and suspense. That way, the endgame will be all the more satisfying. I'll make sure the wait's worthwhile, though – don't worry._

 _Please read and review because they encourage me to keep going! Please be patient while I try to get the next chapter up!_


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